


these streets are yours, you can keep them

by nirav



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirav/pseuds/nirav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Claudia smells apples, Myka dreams memories from a different time, and Pete has to be the mature one. [Post-ep for Instinct]</p>
            </blockquote>





	these streets are yours, you can keep them

**Author's Note:**

> unedited, as is everything in my fic-writing life. i also have mad respect for anyone who writes fic for this fandom because jesus christ on a pogo stick, dialogue for pete and claudia is h a r d and so far beyond my capabilities. title is from a bastille song, and if you're not listening to bastille yet, you're wrong.

They hadn’t made it halfway to the airport when Pete broke the silence in the car.

“Mykes,” he started. 

“No.”  Her eyes stayed closed, temple still pressed against the window, but a hand snapped out between them, palm out and definitive.  “Not a word.”

“I just—”

“Pete, no.”  Her eyes were dry but her voice thick, and he gripped tighter to the steering wheel.  “Leave it, and all caveman jokes are off the table indefinitely.”

He inhaled slowly and blew the air out even slower, shoulder slumping.  “Okay.”  One hand dropped from the steering wheel and starts towards her shoulder before redirecting to the stereo and fiddling with the volume knobs.  “Dibs on the window seat.”

“Fine.”  It came out dull and defeated, and his hands clamp down on the steering wheel once more.

* * *

 

“Heyo,” Claudia called out over her shoulder when they walked into the bed and breakfast.  “Back from the cro-magnon era yet, Pete?”

“Har har.” Pete elbowed her in the back as he shuffled by.  “All caveman jokes are off the table forever.  Myka’s orders.”

“Hey, where’s HG?” Claudia stood from the kitchen table, practically vibrating with excitement.  “I wanted to ask her—”

“Claud,” Pete said.  Myka slid past him and up the stairs, silent and tired.  “Why do you have goo in your hair?”

“Oh my God, still?  I’m going to kill Jinks, he said it was all out.”  She darted past Myka, Farnsworth in hand, before Myka could make it halfway up.

“Mykes,” Pete said.  “Just—if you need to talk, I—”

“Thanks,” Myka said.  Her head tilted in his direction for a brief second before she continued up the stairs.

Artie bustled in with Steve and Abigail moments later, just as Pete’s head disappeared into the fridge.  “Pete, where’s HG, I need to—”

“She didn’t come back,” Pete said, resurfacing with a bottle of water and a leftover sandwich.

“Hey, that’s my—”

“What do you mean she didn’t—”

“No questions,” Pete said.  “Not a word to Myka.”  He took a deliberate bite out of Steve’s sandwich, stares them each down, and then made his way to his own room.

* * *

 

Myka jolted awake from a nightmare, alone and with the riotous fire of an explosion and a shimmering blue barrier still fading from her eyelids, Helena fading into light with her eyes closed and fingers wrapped around a locket and her lips still framing the word _apples_.

* * *

 

Claudia burst through the doorway to the Pete Cave, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“Whoa there,” Pete said, craning his neck from his position sprawled out on top of the pool table.  “You need a password to come into the Pete Cave.”

“Not when I’m the one stocking said cave with soda and putting up a firewall around your porn collection so Artie doesn’t kick your ass for saving it on a warehouse computer.” She kicked a foot up on the wall behind her and leaned back.  “Why didn’t HG come back?”

“Claudia, come on,” Pete said, dropping his comic book onto his chest.  “Let it go.”

“No.  I needed to talk to her about something—”

“And you can’t talk to Artie or Mrs. Frederic?”

“I did, and he doesn’t know and she’s off doing her pop in and scare people thing somewhere else.”

“Then why would HG know?”

“Because HG mentioned apples!”

Pete blinked owlishly.  “Apples?”

“Apples.”

“Like the fruit.”

“Like bopping Newton on the head, like the garden of Eden, yes, apples,” Claudia said impatiently.

“Apples,” Pete said again. 

“Apples!” Claudia shouted.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down.”  Pete hopped off of the table, finally facing her.  “What about…apples?  Is this like the fudge thing?”

“No,” Claudia said with a sigh.  “I don’t know _what_ it means exactly, but I remember HG mentioning it once before.”

“Mentioning what, exactly?”

“Smelling apples.  In the warehouse.”

“Is there an apple artifact, or—”

“Pete!” Claudia rolled her eyes.  “Come on, this is serious.  I need to talk to HG about it.”

“She’s in Wisconsin.”

“No, really?  That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of talking to her.  Why didn’t she ditch loserville and come home with you and Myka?”

“She has a family, Claud,” Pete said. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

He shrugged tiredly, leaning back on the pool table.  “Nate, and his daughter Adelaide. She has a home with them, and a job.”

“We’re her family!”

“Not anymore,” he said softly.  “She wants a chance at a normal life, and that’s what she’s trying to build with them.  Look, Claudia, you can’t bring this up around Myka, she’s—”

“Yeah, I know,” Claudia said.  Her voice was sharp but her eyes sad, and she slumped against the wall.  “I thought that they could sort it out.”

“Me too.” Pete sighed quietly.  “But it’s not what HG wants, and Myka—”

“Wants HG,” Claudia said.

“Where did you get that idea?” Pete flushed when Claudia rolled her eyes.

“I have _eyes_ , dude, they were three seconds away from making out when I was five seconds away from combusting in a bottling plant, okay.”

“Anyways,” Pete says hurriedly.  “I was going to say that she wants HG to be happy, but yeah, pretty sure it’s also that.”

“This is _stupid_.”  Her voice rang around the room, and Pete flinched.  “HG belongs with us, not playing Ken and Barbie fantasy housetime in Wisconsin.”

“It’s her choice—”

“And Myka needs her here,” Claudia went on, talking loudly over Pete.  “You saw her when the phone rang, you saw her face, you know what she wants.”

“She gave HG her blessing,” Pete said with a shrug.  “That was her choice.”

“She’s stupid,” Claudia said.  “They’re both stupid.  They need to just grow up and—”

“And what?”

Myka’s voice was cool and quiet, and they both jumped at it. 

“Mykes, hey,” Pete said.  “We were just—”

“Talking about me, yeah, I heard,” she said.  “I could hear you six aisles away.”

Claudia flushed, eyes locking on her toes, and shrank back against the wall.  “It’s just that—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Myka said.  “Helena has a new life now, and we have to respect that.  End of discussion.”  She paused, staring them both down, before turning on one heel and starting back towards the office.

“We have a ping, Pete,” she shouted over her shoulder.  “Leaving in an hour.”

Pete shot an apologetic glance at Claudia and jogged off after Myka.  Claudia sighed, starting off down the hallways as well.

* * *

 

Pete and Myka had been in Delaware for almost a week, Artie knew nothing about apples, and Mrs. Frederic popped in only long enough to give Claudia a heart attack and brush off her questions.  Claudia finally snapped, pulling out her own laptop when she’s alone in the office and setting off tracing the incoming calls to Myka’s phone from two weeks earlier.

At a Ramada Inn in Delaware, Pete was woken from his nap—they’d been chasing an artifact for 72 hours straight and finally had time to crash before flying home—by Myka muttering in her sleep about Walter Sykes and barriers and apples.  By the time he made his way from his bed to her bedside, she’d calmed down, rolling towards the center of the bed and curling around a pillow.

* * *

 

“Hey, partner,” Pete said, leaping into the open doorway to Myka’s room.  He rubbed his hands together excitedly.  “Come on, let’s go for a run.  I accidentally drank seven cups of coffee and my hands are getting all twitchy.”

“How did you accidentally drink seven cups of coffee?” Myka didn’t move from her spot curled up in a recliner, book propped against her knees.

“I don’t actually know, but!  Come on, come on, it’ll be fun.  You can set the pace and everything.  Today’s gonna be a good one, I can totally beat you.”

“Not today, Pete,” she said. “We can run tomorrow.”

“Myka,” he said.  “Come on, please?”

“Not today,” she repeated.

“Fine,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.  “See if I care.”

“Have fun.” Her eyes stayed in her book.

Pete disappeared from her room, only to reappear a moment late.  He dropped a thick block of papers onto her desk. 

“What are you—”

“I printed off every caveman joke I could find, for your browsing leisure,” he said with a bow.  “Just in case you decide you want to talk.”

* * *

 

The number HG had called Myka from was a dead end, disconnected and left for dead somewhere.  Boone, Wisconsin couldn’t have been a large city, but Claudia had no way of getting out there without everyone in the warehouse following her, and HG was too smart to find from hundreds of miles away.

“Jinksy!”  A crash followed, and a muttered curse, and Steve’s head popped around from the aisle he was in.

“What?”

“Walk with me,” she said, looping her arm through his.

“Why?”

“Why not? A girl can’t go for a walk in the wonderful world of Oz with her best friend?”

“Now I _know_ you want something.”

Claudia shoved her elbow into his ribs, grumbling. “That hurts, Agent Jinks.”

“Not as much as my ribs hurt.  When are you going to try meditation? It’ll be great for your anger issues.”

“Probably about the time you actually listen to me when I talk about quantum cryptography.”

“So, never?”

“Gold star for the Buddhist.  Now, come on, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the B&B.  You’re going to teach me how to meditate.”

An hour later, Steve was sulking in the passenger seat of Claudia’s car, and Claudia merrily ignored him as she cycled through radio stations.

“Stop pouting or I’m going to Tesla you.”

“I can’t believe you lied to me.  And I’m not _pouting_.”

“You’re totally pouting.  Puffy lower lip and everything.  It’s super adorable for a big bad ATF agent.”

“Yeah, well, my best friend lied to me and kidnapped me and is taking me to _Wisconsin_ to do something with someone who doesn’t want to see us that she clearly won’t tell me about.  I have a right to pout.”

“I like how you say Wisconsin like you’re smelling dirty gym socks.”

“Why are we going?” Steve shut off the radio abruptly, glaring over at Claudia.

“Just enjoy the ride, Jinksy.  It won’t take that long and we’ll be back before anyone realizes we did anything but play hooky for a day.”

“Claud, come on.  Why do you have to talk to HG so badly?”

“Are you hungry? I’m starving.  Let’s get lunch, I forgot to eat when I was kidnapping you.”

“Claudia, seriously.”

“We should go to McDonalds, I haven’t had a burger in like two months—”

“Claudia!”

“Apples!”  Claudia flushed brightly, eyes locked on the road.

“How do you jump from wanting a burger to—”

“I smell apples,” Claudia said hurriedly.  “At the warehouse.  It smells like apples all the time, since the goozooka.”

“And you think…HG hid a bunch of air freshners around the building?”

“No, I—I just need to ask her about it, okay?”

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead.  “Okay.  You didn’t have to kidnap me for that, you know.”

“But it’s more fun that way.” Claudia winked at him.  “Plan B involved a horse mask and a recorded whinny.”

“I _hate_ you.”

“Not as much as you’re going to,” Claudia said.  “My car, my stereo.  I hope you’re ready for some metal, mister meditation.”

* * *

 

“Myka, I need you and Pete to—you look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks,” Myka said as she straightened from her slump on the couch.

“What’s up with you?” Artie pushed his glasses up, squinting at her. 

“I just didn’t sleep well last night, I’m fine.  What did you need?”

“It’s nothing pressing, I can send Claudia and Steve.  You need a break.”

“Artie, I’m fine, really.” Myka reached for the folder and stumbled when he snapped his hand back out of her reach, staring her down.  “What?  I wake up on the wrong side of the bed once and you want to bench me?”

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Or since Wisconsin,” Abigail interjected from the doorway.

“What did you say?” Myka said coolly. 

“She’s right, Mykes,” Pete said, stepping into the room hesitantly. 

“She isn’t,” Myka snapped.  She yanked her jacket up from the chair it was resting on.   “I’m going to go do inventory.”

“Myka,” Artie said sharply.  “Sit down.”

“No, Artie,” Myka threw back.  “I’m not going to sit here while your new psychiatrist tries to analyze me and you and Pete stare at me like I’m losing my mind.”

“I’m not—” Abigail started. Myka’s cutting look stopped her in her tracks, and she held her hands up pacifyingly. 

“Myka, just talk to us, okay?” Pete said.  “I know you’ve been having nightmares, and maybe if you talk about it you’ll feel better.”

“I’m not going to—”

“You are, so sit down and start talking.” Mrs. Frederic’s input startled them all, and Myka hurled her jacket into the couch.

“What is this, an intervention?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “Now explain your nightmares.”

“They aren’t related to my job, so I don’t see how they’re any of your business.”

“Explain,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “Now.”

“Apples,” Pete said suddenly.

“What?” Mrs. Frederic’s glare shot over to him, as did Myka’s, and he backed up, hands up in front of him. 

“You just said apples once in your sleep in Delaware, and Claudia said something about apples, okay.  I don’t know what the deal is.”

“Apples,” Artie mumbled.  “Claudia was asking me about smelling apples in the warehouse.”

“She mentioned it to me, too,” Abigail said.  She sat tentatively in a chair, as far from Myka as possible. 

“Agent Bering,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “Your turn.”

“It’s just a dream, it doesn’t mean—”

“Agent Bering,” Mrs. Frederic saidflatly.

“Fine! It’s about Helena, alright? Is that what you want to know?”

“HG?” Artie said, blinking behind smeared glasses and shooting a glance to Mrs. Frederic.

Pete took a seat next to Myka, his leg pressed carefully against hers.  “What’s the deal with apples?  Is there like an orchard hiding somewhere in the warehouse?  Because that would be so cool.”

“No,” Mrs. Frederic said.  She inclined her head towards Artie, who yanked his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.  “It doesn’t.”

“The smell of apples comes from the warehouse itself,” Artie said.  “When the warehouse has found someone it—someone it trusts.  A new caretaker.”

“Oh,” Abigail said abruptly.  “That explains—” She flushed under Mrs. Frederic’s stare, mouth snapping shut.

“Claudia is going to be the new caretaker?” Myka said softly.  Her eyes redirected from Artie to Mrs. Frederic.  “After you?”

“The warehouse chooses its caretaker,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “It chose Claudia long ago, she just wasn’t prepared for it yet.”

“So why is she ready now?”

“Because she fixed it,” Abigail said.  She blushed again.  “When the warehouse was expanding and we were getting the quakes, she fixed it.  Right afterwards she said she smelled apples.”

“What does this have to do with HG?” Pete put a hand on Myka’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  “Why did Claudia want to talk to her—”

“HG was going to be a caretaker,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “Chaturanga wrote about it in his records.  She smelled apples her first day in the warehouse.  She was to replace Chaturanga, but the plans were—disrupted when the protective instinct that drew the warehouse to her as a caretaker were overtaken by her grief.”

“If she was going to be a caretaker, why was she bronzed?”

“She asked to be,” Myka mumbled.  “It was her time machine.  She wanted to wait for a better world.”

“Chaturanga instead lived for quite a long time afterwards, until the next caretaker came along,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “Now, the warehouse has chosen a new caretaker.”

“Then why is Myka having dreams about apples?”

Myka shot a disgruntled look at Abigail, who threw her hands up in the air.  “I’m just trying to help everyone here, Agent Bering.  This isn’t a vendetta.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about—” Myka started.

“Myka,” Artie said.  “What happens in your dream?”

“Artie, this is pointless.”

“Myka!”

Myka sighed, pushing a hand through her hair and pressing at her temple.  “We’re in the Escher vault—you and me and Pete and Helena—and there’s a bomb and we can’t diffuse it.  Helena creates some kind of energy barrier that protects the three of us from the explosion, but she’s not inside it.  When the bomb goes off, she says something about apples, and then I wake up.”

Artie stiffened as she spoke, his eyes locked onto Mrs. Frederic’s. 

“Artie, what’s going on?” Pete’s hand tightened on Myka’s shoulder, and hers dropped to his knee, gripping even tighter still.

“How could she—”

“It’s possible that she’s—”

“Hey! _She’s_ right here,” Myka snapped.  “Talk to _me_ , don’t talk around me.”

“We don’t know—”

“You know something,” Pete said sharply.  “Don’t screw with us, Artie.”

“The astrolabe,” Artie said.  “It turns back time.”

“It—I’m sorry, what?” Abigail said. 

“Why did you turn back time?”

“Because the warehouse was gone,” Artie said tiredly, slumping down into a chair.  “Your dream, it’s what happened.  Walter Sykes left a bomb in the warehouse that we couldn’t disarm, and HG rerouted a portion of the barrier from the Ramadi shackle to protect us from the blast.”

“She—she died?” Myka slumped visibly against Pete.  “Helena died?”

“She saved all of us,” Artie said gently.  “And that allowed me to find the astrolabe, go back in time, and stop it all from happening.”

“That’s why you trusted her to hide the astrolabe,” Myka said.  “Why you sent her away.”

“Myka, I—”

“Why is Myka dreaming about it?” Pete interjected.

“I don’t know,” Artie said, frustration leaking into his voice. 

“I might,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “It’s possible that Myka is temporally grounded, and that her interactions with HG in Wisconsin triggered a memory from the other timeline that was buried when the day was reset.”

“What does that mean? Is she sick?  Is it bad?”

“There are two timelines?” Myka ignored Pete, her focus locked onto Mrs. Frederic.  “And I’m dreaming about the one that was erased?”

“It wasn’t erased,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “And you’re remembering, not dreaming.  Artie’s actions with the astrolabe simply rerouted us down a different path.  Theoretically, there are infinite parallel universes in existence, and his reset simply redirected the intended direction of this one so that the warehouse—and HG—survived.”

Myka shrugged away from Pete, pacing up and down the living room.  “So why am I remembering it now?”

“If you’re temporally grounded, then alterations to the timeline don’t affect you the same way they affect the rest of us.  While the redirection of the timeline erased all knowledge of the original timeline from everyone but the one using the astrolabe and the new timeline replaced it, for you it was just overlaid on top of the original.”

“Like a VCR!” Pete burst out triumphantly.  “Like recording on a VCR.”

“Correct, Agent Lattimer.”  Mrs. Frederic eyeballed him until he sat down, shrinking in on himself.

“Claudia would have appreciated the technology reference,” he muttered.

“Where _is_ Claudia?” Artie said.  “And Steve?”

“I haven’t seen them since this morning,” Pete says.

“Why am I remembering now?” Myka stopped in front of Mrs. Frederic, hands on her hips.  “Why _now_?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Frederic said.  “I’m far from an expert in time travel.  The only person I know who understands it even a little bit is—”

“Doctor Who?” Pete said hopefully.  Artie threw a book at him, glaring when he manages to dodge it.

“Helena,” Myka supplied.  “Helena could figure it out.”

“Oh,” Pete said.  “Right.”

“No,” Myka said firmly.  “Leave her out of this.”

“Myka—” Artie started.

“Artie, no.  She’s got a new life now, and a family, and she _deserves_ to have the life she wants, away from this.”

“Agent Bering, we have to know if there will be continuing residual effects of—”

“No!  You just told me that Helena died for this place, for us, and now she has a chance at a normal life and you want to drag her back into this?”

“It’s not a matter of want, but of what is necessary.”

“No,” Myka said again.  “You’ll leave her alone, or I resign right now.”

“Mykes, come on.” Pete leapt up from the couch, landing between Myka and Mrs. Frederic.  “Don’t do something drastic, okay, let’s just let it sit for a while and calm down, and Mrs. F and Artie can try and find another way, okay?”

Artie’s Farnsworth buzzed, cutting off Myka’s response.  “Claudia,” he growled into it.  “Where the hell are you?”

“Wisconsin.” Her voice rang out cheerfully from the speaker, and Myka whipped around abruptly.  She yanked the Farnsworth from Artie and strode out fo the room.

“What the hell are you doing in Wisconsin, Claudia?”

“Whoa, Myka, what’s going on?”

“Stay away from Helena, Claudia, leave her alone.”

“Myka, I—”

“Claudia, no!  Leave right now, don’t both her, she has Nate and Adelaide to worry about and she doesn’t need a bunch of other warehouse agents stomping around making a mess.” Her voice tightened around the end of the sentence, a hand pressing to her chest, heavy over her own heartbeat. 

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Myka froze at the sound of Helena’s voice.  The screen of the Farnsworth blurred from Claudia’s face to Helena’s, and Myka’s hand drifted from her chest to cover her mouth.

“Claudia had a few questions about my tutelage under Chaturanga,” Helena said, smiling tentatively.  “I was more than happy to answer them.”

“Helena,” she said quietly.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she would come there, I—”

“It’s quite alright,” Helena said.  Her smile widened the tiniest bit.  “If our little adventure recently taught me anything, it was that the last thing I want is to lose the friends I have from the warehouse.”

“Oh,” Myka said.  A heaviness settled in her chest, drifting down into her stomach.  “Okay.”

“Miss Wells.” Mrs. Frederic appeared at Myka’s side, speaking into the Farnsworth. “We have an issue that we could use your expertise on.  It involves Agent Bering.”

“Helena, it’s fine, really, you don’t need to—”

“Whatever you need,” Helena said firmly.  “I am at your disposal.  Claudia assures me that we can be there early tomorrow morning.”

“Helena—”

“See you then,” Mrs. Frederic said.  She nodded crisply and shut the Farnsworth with a sharp snap.

“Hey!” Myka said.  “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No.” Mrs. Frederic strode back into the living room, tapping Artie and Abigail each on the shoulder and jerking her head towards the driveway.  “We will be at the warehouse doing research.  Agent Lattimer, you and Agent Bering will stay here and wait for Claudia and Agent Jinks to return with Miss Wells.  I suggest you both get some rest before they do.”

“This is—” Pete’s hand over her mouth cut off Myka’s protest.

“Roger that, Mrs. F,” he said.  “Loud and clear.  We’ll see you in the AM.  Good luck!”

He dragged Myka into the kitchen, arms wrapping around her and pinning hers down when she tried to lunge out after Mrs. Frederic.

“Pete, I swear to God, let me go.”

“Mykes, come on, calm down,” he said, holding her tighter.  “I know this is hard, but we have to know what’s going on and HG can help with that.  She’s the smartest person we know.”

“She doesn’t want to be a part of this, Pete!  She left, she didn’t come back, this isn’t her world anymore.  She doesn’t want it.”

“Myka, just—why won’t you trust us?”

“Because you’re all being idiots!” she shrieked, breaking free from his arms and spinning angrily to face him.

“You left too, you know,” he threw back.  “You walked out on all of us.”

“And you came after me, and I came back.”

“That wasn’t because of me, and we both know that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.  “You think I don’t know that it was HG who got you to come back?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.  The fight flew out of her, her spine curving abruptly.  “I couldn’t get her to come back.”

“Myka,” he said quietly.  His hands fell to rest on her shoulders.  “Wisconsin, Nate, Adelaide—none of that was HG Wells.  That was Emily Lake.  HG Wells, the HG we know, she doesn’t want normal, and she never has—she wants extraordinary.  She wants the warehouse and the endless stupid wonder and the adventure.”  His hands tightened on her shoulders, pulling her up straight and looking her square in the eye.  “She wants you.”

“She doesn’t,” Myka said.  “She chose him.”

“She needs time, Mykes,” he said.  “To remember who she is.  She’s been through a lot—she was _bronzed_ and tried to turn the world into another sequel to _Ice Age_ —and she just needs _time_.”

“She’s had time,” Myka said.  “Pete, she’s been gone for months.”

“Hey!” His hands gripped even tighter, knuckles whitening, and he all but shook her.  “Her kid was killed.  She got another agent killed.  She was bronzed.  She went crazy and tried to end the world.  She went into hiding.  You don’t just _get over_ that.”

“It’s not fair,” Myka said.  Her voice cracked in the middle, shoulders slumping under Pete’s hands.  “She brought me back here, and then she left again.”

“I know,” he said.  “But you need to give her time to sort her head out, okay?  You know that.  You’re rational, you know she needs to get her head back on straight.”

“What if she doesn’t?  What if she won’t stay?”  Myka slumped back against the refrigerator, arms wrapping around herself.  “How many more times do I have to say goodbye to her?”

“Give her a chance,” he said quietly.  “She has to deal with her crap and sort out her head and remember who she is and what she wants.”

“And if that’s not me?”

“Then I use her stupid Victorian ass for target practice,” he said, smirking.  “You know I’ve got your back, partner.”

Myka smiled, faint and sad, and nodded at him. “I know,” she said quietly.  “I know you do.”

“Awesome.”  He rubbed his hands together.  “Now come on, you owe me a run, and then we’re going to spar, and then watch a movie, and then you’re going to be so tired you’re going to pass out and not dream.  And tomorrow, you’ll show HG everything she’s missing, and we’ll figure out why you’re grounded or whatever, and life will be good.”

“No Chuck Norris movies,” Myka said, warning heavy in her voice, as she followed him up the stairs.

* * *

 

Myka fell asleep halfway through _Scarface_ , curled into Pete’s side.  She barely stirred when he carefully picked her up and took her to her room, settling her on the bed and covering her with a blanket.  He took his place in the recliner in the corner, protective, just in case.

* * *

 

Claudia and Jinks arrived in a flurry of argument and commotion halfway into breakfast.  Myka sat hunched over her second cup of coffee, an unbuttered bagel sitting in front of her, Pete across from her and eating cereal straight from the box.

“Next time, we take my car,” Steve said.  “You need driving lessons.”

“Excuse me,” Claudia said, flouncing past him with her nose in the air.  “I drive perfectly fine, sir.  You’re the one who can’t handle being in the passenger seat.”

“Because you drive like a maniac!”

“You only think that because _you_ drive like a grandma with your wee little hybrid.”

“Hi,” Pete said loudly, throwing a piece of cereal at Claudia.  “I haven’t had my coffee yet, keep it down.”

“Tell that to Grumpy McGrumpypants,” Claudia said, settling across from him and yanking the box out of his hands.

Myka finally looked up from her coffee, eyes drifting past Steve to where Helena stood, hovering in the doorway. 

“Good morning,” Helena said quietly. 

“Hey, HG,” Pete said.  He smiled up at her, tilted his head slightly towards Myka, and then hopped up from his chair.  “Claud, Jinksy, Artie wants us at the warehouse le pronto.”

“You’re mixing languages,” Steve started.

“Walk now, correct later,” Claudia said as she strode past him, hooking a hand into his back pocket and jerking him backwards with her.  “Mykes, HG, we’ll holler when we need you.”

“Claudia, wait—” Myka started, but the three of them were already down the hallway before she could finish her sentence.  She slumped back down into her chair, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“If I may say so, you don’t look well.” Helena’s voice is weighted with concern, and much closer than it had been moments earlier.

“I’m fine,” Myka muttered.  “I just need another cup of coffee.”

“Don’t get up,” Helena said.  She grabbed the empty mug from in front of Myka.  “Please, allow me.  I discovered energy drinks a few months ago and I think I’m addicted.  I had several in the last two days, I’ll likely be awake for a fortnight.”  She smiled hesitantly at Myka, shoulders turning briefly towards Myka, before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Myka pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing her headache to go away.  Helena reappeared a moment later, settling a mug of coffee in front of Myka ceremoniously. 

“Dash of cream, no sugar, if I remember correctly,” Helena said.  She took Claudia’s vacated seat, settling with her hands in her lap.

“Why are you here?” Myka said.  “Why come back now and not when we tried to bring you home?”

“Myka, please, I couldn’t abandon Nate and Adelaide, not after what they went through on my account.”

“But you could abandon us?  You could look me in the eye and send me away, but you couldn’t abandon them.”

Helena’s feature tightened, like they did whenever her daughter came up, like when she had stood incorporeal but so real and told Pete to destroy her. 

“Pete thinks you need to grieve,” Myka said after a long moment of silence.  “That you never had a chance to deal with everything that you’ve been through, and this time instead of going crazy and trying to kill everyone, you’re just hiding in Emily Lake and Adelaide.”

Myka watched impassively as Helena flinched, her thin fingers wrapping around one another in her lap. 

“This isn’t fair, Helena.” Myka’s voice creaked, her hands shaking.  “You can’t just keep leaving and coming back and leaving again.”

“I’ve never wanted to hurt you,” Helena said.  “The last thing I ever wanted was to cause you pain, Myka, you must know that.  I know I have made mistakes, but I can’t make up for them if I’m not allowed the opportunity—”

“Did anyone tell you why Mrs. Frederic wants you here?” Myka interrupted.  “Why we need HG Wells, the father of science fiction, to come here?”

“Claudia wasn’t entirely sure—”

“Because you’re the time travel expert.  Because Artie changed the timeline, but for some reason, now, I remember it.”  Myka abandoned her coffee, shoving back from the table and standing, arms folding tightly over her stomach.  

“For a long time, I thought the worst feeling in the world was you holding a gun to my head and thinking that you would pull the trigger.  Then I thought it was when you convinced me to let you _die_.  But you know what’s worse?  What I remember now?  I remember standing in a room with half of my family and a bomb we couldn’t disarm, and you saving us all by throwing yourself on a grenade.  I remember you _dying_ , actually dying.”

Helena stared at her, mouth half open and eyes wide, as Myka slumped back against the wall, sagging tiredly.  “Myka, I don’t know—”

“No, you do know!” Myka shouted.  “You know who you are, Helena.  You aren’t Emily Lake, you aren’t ordinary, you aren’t a housewife forensic scientist who gets driven to work every day.  You’re brilliant and dangerous and—and powerful, and you’re the most terrifyingly devoted person I’ve ever met.  You belong _here_ , with the warehouse and with this family, but you’re too afraid of it all to come back.”

“I’m tired of hurting people!” Helena said.  Her fingers clenched over her own knees, shoulder shaking with the effort.  “I have made too many mistakes of enormous consequence to pretend that I can live in a world of wonder and danger like the warehouse without destroying the people I care for.”

“No,” Myka said, a finger pointing sharply at her.  “No, that’s not true.  You’re only a danger when you’re trying to avoid your own feelings.  You came out of the bronzer still broken over losing Christina, and you hid in your anger instead of coping with the loss, and then you hid in your work for Artie, and then you hid in Nate and Adelaide.”

“You don’t understand, Myka,” Helena said helplessly.  “She died because I wasn’t there to protect her.  My _daughter_ was murdered because I wasn’t there to save her.  I live with that every day, and you cannot imagine the hole it’s left in me.  Everything good and useful in me died when she did.  There’s nothing left for me to offer you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Myka said.  “You think I don’t understand loss? I saw the man I was in love with murdered.  Pain is pain, Helena, and you don’t get to tell me that I don’t understand it.  If I can learn to deal with my loss, so can you.”

“Please,” Helena said.  “Please just let me help and then let me go home.”

“I’m not saying goodbye to you again,” Myka said, quiet and firm.  “I was lying to myself, I was lying to you, when I said that we could do _coffee_ , like we’re _friends_.  I can’t do this anymore, Helena.”

“So what does that even mean?” Helena finally stood, crossing her arms and pulling herself to her full height. 

“It means that how this goes is up to you,” Myka said.  “It means that I’m not going to wait around for you to get your head out of your ass if you aren’t going to actively try.  It means that if you walk away this time, you don’t get to come back.”

Myka brushed carelessly at her eyes, shaking her head and turning to leave.

“How did you do it?” Helena asked quietly.  “How did you get over Sam?”

“I found something I loved just as much.” Myka turned, gesturing to the bed and breakfast.  “I understood that what other people do isn’t in my control, and I found something I enjoy, a family, someone to love.”

Helena watched, resigned and small-looking, as Myka offered half of a sad smile before turning once more to go.

* * *

 

Three days passed, with Helena at the warehouse nonstop with Artie and Claudia and Mrs. Frederic.  Pete took to task the job of distracting Myka, dragging her out to run, on errands to town, to go for scenic drives in the South Dakota countryside. 

On the third day, they walked into the bed and breakfast to see Artie and Claudia collapsed tiredly in the living room, sprawled across couches. 

“Where are—”

“Mrs. Frederic did her pop out thing,” Claudia groaned.  “HG is at the warehouse with Abigail.”

“Why are you two here?  Did you figure something out?”  Myka pulled Claudia’s feet up enough for her to sit down, settling the other girl’s feet into her lap.

“As far as we can tell, the only impact of you being temporally grounded is that you’re going to continue to remember the other timeline that you experienced,” Artie said.  “Be warned, you committed some serious property damage in Italy at one point.”

“I _what_?”

“It was for a good cause,” Artie said, waving her question away.  “The point is, the only thing we can think to do at this point is to do nothing, except keep track of any dreams or flashbacks you have of the other timeline.”

“So that’s it?” Pete said.  “All of that for nothing?”

“Hey,” Claudia said indignantly.  She flipped a pillow at him.  “Don’t hate, sparky.  The important thing we figured out is that it isn’t going to hurt her.”

“Oh.  Well, when you put it that way,” Pete said.  He sank down in a chair next to the couch, reaching out and punching Myka in the arm.  “That’s a good thing.”

“Gee, thanks,” Myka said drily.  She punched him in the arm in return before standing abruptly.

“Hey!” Claudia said again, flailing and catching herself barely before falling off the couch.  “Watch it, footrest.”

“I’m going to go to the warehouse,” Myka said to no one in particular.

“Want me to—”

“No, I’m fine.”  She waved Pete off, shaking her head.  “I just—I’m going to go.”

She drove to the warehouse in silence, walking slowly through the entrance hallway, hands in her pockets.  The soft murmur of voices drifted out of the office, and she paused, head tilting towards the sounds, ear straining.  Helena’s voice was barely distinguishable, the casual lilt of her accent obvious even when her words were muddled.

Long seconds passed before Myka pushed the door open and stepped inside.  Abigail and Helena looked up at her in surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Myka lied.  “I just wanted to—”

“It’s fine,” Abigail said with a smile.  She pressed a hand against Helena’s shoulder briefly as she stood, and gathered her coat.  “I’ll see you two at the B&B.”  She offered a small wink to Myka on her way out.

“I take it Artie and Claudia told you that we’ve concluded our research.”  Helena didn’t stand, one hand staying clamped around her locket, the other fiddling with cuff of a too-long shirtsleeve.

“Yeah,” Myka said.  “Yeah, they—uh, they said it was nothing to be worried about, I guess.”

“Monitored, perhaps, going forwards, but so far as we can tell, there’s no real cause for concern at this point.”

“Good to know,” Myka said faintly.  She took Abigail’s chair, gaze scanning over Helena’s face.  Her eyes were bloodshot, framed with the darkness of fatigue, and her cheeks were ruddy.  “Have you been crying?”

“I—um, yes, I suppose I have,” Helena said, flushing and wiping at her eyes pointlessly.  “Dr. Cho and I had a rather exhaustive conversation, you might say.”

“About what?”

“About—everything, really,” Helena said.  She sniffed quietly, wiping at her eyes once more, before one hand returned to her locket.  “Christina, and Emily Lake.  Chaturanga’s chess lock, your memories.”  She paused.  “Wisconsin, and Nate and Adelaide.”

“Oh,” Myka said.  Her hands twitched towards Helena, fingers reaching briefly before she yanked them back down into her lap. 

“I imagine this is when I’m meant to tell you that you were right,” Helena went on.  “When you said I was hiding in Emily Lake.”  The hand around her locket shook, and Myka couldn’t stop her hand from reaching out and gently unwrapping Helena’s fingers from the necklace, tugging their hands down until they rested atop Helena’s knees.

“She was everything to me, Myka.”  Helena’s voice shook, and Myka held tighter to her hand.  “I’ve never learned how to live without her.”

“I know,” Myka said softly.  “I know it’s hard.”

“She was an amazing child,” Helena said.  Her shoulders shuddered, breath catching audibly, and her eyes screwed shut in retaliation. “She was bright, and curious, and kind.  I wanted her to live in a world that I had made better for her, but instead I couldn’t even protect her from the one we lived in.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Myka said.  Her free hand lifted, hesitating only the barest amount, and pressed against Helena’s cheek.  “Helena, look at me.  Look at me.

“The horrible things that other people do, they aren’t your fault,” Myka said.  “As amazing  as you may be, you cannot control the actions of others.  You aren’t responsible for what they did, or for the fact that she died.”

“Where’s the use of being extraordinary if I can’t use it to protect the people I love?”

“You’re extraordinary whether you like it or not, Helena Wells,” Myka said wryly.  “You can try and hide it all oyu want, and if that’s what you want then that’s what you should do, but it won’t ever go away.”

“And what about you?” Helena asked.  Her fingers wrapped around Myka’s wrist, gentle but warm, and Myka inhaled sharply.  “What do you want?”

Myka licked her lips, the air dry and hot around them, and straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin stubbornly.  “I just want you,” she said quietly.  “All I ever wanted was you.”

“I’m no good for anyone, much less you, not like this,” Helena said.  Her lips twitched up into a small, sad smile, and her eyes shone briefly with a hint of tears.

“That’s not true,” Myka said.  She sat up straighter, her hand falling from Helena’s cheek. 

“It is, darling, it really is,” Helena said.  She wiped at her eyes once more and stood slowly.  Her hand drifted up, fingers nudging under Myka’s chin.  “You were right, when we last spoke, when you said that I have to learn to deal with my grief.”

“So what are you going to do?” Myka sat back, pulling away from Helena’s hand and crossing her arms defensively.

“I’m going to learn to deal with my grief,” Helena said.  “Your Dr. Cho, she’s quite a wise woman, and she’s agreed to help me.”

“You’re going to…go to therapy?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Helena said with a bitter laugh. 

“Here?”

“That’s up to you,” Helena said.  “I must admit that I’m not ready for—for all of this.” She gestured vaguely between the two of them, and her hand slipped up to tuck under Myka’s chin once more, thumb brushing across her mouth for the briefest of seconds before falling away.  “You deserve more than I can provide at this point.”

“Why do you get to decide that?” Myka said, sullen and glaring.  “I’m an adult, Helena, I know what I’m getting into.”

“But I don’t,” Helena said gently.  “I know I’ve no right to ask as much, but I would appreciate the allowance of some time for me to get myself sorted.”

“So, what, you’re going to tell me to wait, and go to therapy with Abigail, and I have to see you all day, every day, and not—and not...” Her voice faded off, one hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“That’s up to you,” Helena said.  “You told me that if I left again that I would be out of your life for good.  I wish to respect that.  I don’t want to lose you, Myka, you’re the one thing in this world I want to hold onto tighter than anything, but I want to be good _for_ you.  I can coordinate with Dr. Cho so as to work with her from a distance, if you don’t want to see me every day.”

“No,” Myka said abruptly.  “No, you’re not leaving.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m going to go,” Myka said.  “I—I’m going to take a leave of absence for a while.  I haven’t taken a vacation in ages, and I need to—I need to figure out some of my own stuff.”

“Myka, are you certain—”

“I am.” Myka pushed a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, her spine straightening as she did so.  “Two months, Helena.  I’m going to go stay with my parents for two months, and then I’m going to come back, okay?  And you’re going to promise me, right now, that you’re going to be here when I do.”

“I promise,” Helena said.  “I absolutely promise.”

“You have to work, okay?” Myka said.  “It’s hard, it’s so hard, but you have to promise me that you’re going to try, okay?”  She reached out, halting and unsure, and gripped at Helena’s arms.  “You’re strong enough to do this, I know you are, and I’m going to be waiting for you.”

“Righty ho,” Helena said, voice thick and smile forced.  “When will you be leaving?”

“Right now,” Myka said.  One hand skimmed up Helena’s arm, pressing to the sharp line of her jaw for a brief moment before continuing to the back of her neck and pulling her close.  She pressed a kiss to the corner of Helena’s mouth, lingering a beat too long before she stepped back.  “Pete will know where to find me.”

“Of course,” Helena said.  “Good—”

“Not this time,” Myka interrupted.  “I wasn’t kidding, I’m not saying goodbye to you again.”

“Right, of course,” Helena said again.  “Safe travels, then?”

“That’ll work,” Myka said with a smile.  “You, too.”

She stepped back, fingers sliding along Helena’s arm until she was too far away to touch.  Taking a deep breath, she turned to leave, teeth clamped down on her lower lip.

“Wait,” Helena said abruptly.  “Just one--- one moment, if you would.”

Myka closed her eyes, biting down harder on her lip, and turned around.  “I need to—”

“Here,” Helena rushed out.  Her fingers fumbled at the back of her neck, unlocking the necklace.  The locket and chain pooled into her hand, and her fingers traced over it once before she crossing the distance between them and pressed it into Myka’s hand.  “Even I don’t trust my word sometimes, but please trust this.”

“Helena, I—”

“I’ll come get it from you,” Helena said.  She closed Myka’s fingers around the locket, hands enveloping hers carefully.  “Two months.  Pete will know where to find you.”  Her fingers tightened briefly, her hand shaking, and she inhaled sharply. 

“Please take care of her,” she said.  “I know you will, but—I would be remiss ,as her mother, not to ask for good measure.”

“Of course I will,” Myka said quietly.  “I’ll see you in a few months.”

She turned quickly and strode out of the room.  She made it to the car before she started to hyperventilate, and sat in the silent car for half an hour before she was calm enough to drive.

* * *

 

Bering and Sons hadn’t changed at all since her last break from the warehouse.  Her parents were surprised to see her, but she had concocted a strong enough explanation for her extended leave—top secret circumstances and her whole team being ordered to take time to rest and recover—that it only took a day before they had her back working in the store.

Time passed quietly in Colorado, and the simplicity of managing her family’s business—the smell of old paper, the one she had grown up sniffing on her father’s jackets—calmed her.  She spoke with Pete and Claudia almost every day, and Steve every few days.  Artie even concocted a few fake literature questions to call and ask her, gruffly closing the calls with a comment about how he needed her to keep Pete in line.

She still dreamed of Helena and the warehouse and a bomb they couldn’t stop, but her dreams no longer felt like nightmares because Helena was alive and well, working at the warehouse and working with Abigail.  Myka got occasional updates from Claudia, who was back to hero-worshipping Helena and determined to catch her up on the last hundred years of technology in two months. 

Six weeks passed, and the circles under Myka’s eyes faded.  Her posture strengthened as the fatigue slipped out of her, and she cleaned the entire store from top to bottom, discovering stacks upon stacks of old books that her parents had forgotten the owned.  She was on a stepladder by the front door, reorganizing a shelf of astronomy books that a customer had left in disarray, when a voice floated up to her.

“I beg your pardon, but I was wondering if you could point me towards the science fiction section?”

Myka jumped, spinning around at the familiar voice, and immediately fell off the ladder.  She toppled onto Helena with a squeak, and stayed on her feet only because Helena’s arms wrapped around her waist, stabilizing her.

“Careful,” Helena said with a chuckle. 

“Hi,” Myka said, breathless and flushed.  She straightened up, pushing her glasses up from where they had almost fallen off, and stared at Helena.  “Hi.”

“Hello,” Helena said.  She smiled, her head tilting to one side.  “I’ve never seen you wear glasses.”

“Glass—oh,” Myka said.  Her fingers pressed against the frames self-consciously.

“They look nice,” Helena added.  Her hands settled into her coat pockets, and she blushed as well.  “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Myka said.  She continued to stare openly at Helena.  “What are you—is everything okay?  It’s only been—”

“Six weeks, yes,” Helena said.  She shrugged dramatically.  “The first thing I’m supposed to tell you is from Abigail, who said that you should, and I quote, ‘know better than to place a time limit on healing’ and that she’s been rather perturbed with you for the last six weeks, even though she’s the one who encouraged me to make this trip.”

“Oh,” Myka said faintly.

“However,” Helena went on.  “What _I_ have to say is only vaguely related to that.”  She paused, taking a deep breath, and stepped a little closer to Myka. 

“What I have to say is that I may never fully recover from Christina’s death,” Helena said quietly.  “There will always be a part of me missing her, that feels like a miserable failure in every sense of the word for what happened.”  She bit down on her lip, her hands twitching in her coat pockets.  “But what matters is that I’m learning to deal with that part, and not defining myself by it.  My daughter was murdered, and that was something that happened, but it isn’t who I am, not anymore.”

“Who you are,” Myka repeated.  “And who are you?”

“I’m Helena Wells,” she said.  “I’m 147 years old, I work at warehouse 13 with quite the merry group of Americans, I’m an expect at kempo karate, and I am very, very smart.”

Myka rolled her eyes, and Helena smirked.  “I’m also a tad bit egotistical at times, but at this particular moment in my very long lifespan, I don’t feel very egotistical, because I don’t believe I’ve ever asked anyone on a date before and I’m not entirely certain how I should proceed.”

“A date?” Myka said with a squeak.

“Ah—uh, yes,” Helena said, flushing again.  “Honestly, though, I’ve no idea how do to this because we didn’t have _dates_ in the nineteenth century, and even if we did I certainly never asked anyone to one.”

“Well, uh,” Myka said, pushing at her glasses once more.  “Coffee might be a good place to start.”

“Righty ho, then,” Helena said.  She stood up straighter and pushed her hair back behind her ears.  “Agent Bering, would you be so kind as to join me for coffee?”

“Yeah,” Myka breathed out.  “Yeah, I think I can do that.”  She retrieved her jacket from behind the front counter and blushed brightly when Helena lifted it out of her hands and held it open for her to slide into.

“Onwards, then?” Helena said, pushing the door open and guiding Myka through with a soft hand on her lower back.

“Onwards,” Myka said, a smile tugging at her lips.  She pointed down the block.  “That way.”

“Lead on,” Helena said with a salute.  “It is, if I remember correctly, Bering first, and then Wells.  Solving puzzles, saving the day.”

Myka laughed, quiet and bright, and buttoned up her coat as they started down the sidewalk. 

“By the way,” Helena said.  Her hands burrowed back into her coat pockets, shoulders hunching slightly against the cold air.  “Steve has asked that I bring you home because recently I’ve been partnered with Claudia for many of our curiosities, and he’s rather tired of Pete’s jokes.”

Myka laughed louder, shaking her head and letting her hand wrap around Helena’s elbow, their shoulders pressing together.  Helena fell quiet, and her other hand slipped out of her pocket and came up to cover Myka’s.  Their fingers slipped together, Myka’s free hand rising to settle over Helena’s, and they continued moving forward in a comfortable silence.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i literally know nothing about time travel or temporal theory or multiple universes or any of that mess-- the only way i can talk about time intelligently is on a philosophical level, because that was my major, but the actual complexities of it are so over my head i cannot even begin to tell you. i stole the concept of temporal grounding from animorphs and bullshitted from there. hopefully the bullshit lack-of-science didn't mess with the story too terribly.


End file.
